Seven Sins
by Singofsolace
Summary: Why does Regina refuse to drink rum? Chapter three, Gluttony, explores the day Regina lost all care for rum, but developed an addiction to alcohol all the same. TW for attempted rape and Cora's abuse of her daughter.
1. Lust

A/N: The Seven Deadly Sins have always been a topic of fascination for me, so I decided to write Regina's Seven Sins. Some of them she indulges, some of them she does not, and some—like lust—are too complicated to pin down. This takes place during 1x7: "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter," when a drunk and confused Graham comes to Regina's house at night and asks if Henry is asleep…

Disclaimer: I don't own _Once Upon a Time_

**Trigger Warning**: Non-explicit mentions of the marital liberties King Leopold took as Regina's husband.

* * *

_**Deadly Sin:** _Lust

Regina could not pinpoint the exact moment when the positions in their relationship had changed, but she knew it was some time between Graham arriving on her doorstep and him pushing her up against the wall.

It reminded her that it—this—had always been about _control_.

Sex was a power play; Regina learned from the moment she consummated her marriage with the King that there was nothing tender or loving about it.

Since arriving in Storybrooke, she tried to put those memories behind her. She tried not to think about the way King Leopold's heavy body had pressed down upon hers, how it felt like the crushing weight of a ship's anchor drowning her at the bottom of the sea. She tried not to feel his rough hands exploring her body like she was just another unruly land in need of conquering. She tried not to think about the pain, the violence of the act itself—there had already been too much suffering in her life to dwell on the particulars.

For years, Regina had lain awake in her marriage bed, listening to Leopold snore beside her and imagining all the ways she could kill him in his sleep. Since the day she said her wedding vows, there was not a night that went by that she did not wish that she were anywhere but in his bed. Some evenings Snow would come to Regina's bedchambers to talk and tell stories until the little girl fell asleep, and, mercifully, Leopold would let them be. Those were the nights Regina clung to; Snow's company, as much as it made her feel as though a vice were tightening around her heart, was preferable to serving as a cheap substitute for Leopold's first wife.

Regina wonders if Snow knew what went on behind closed doors, or if she remained blissfully unaware through it all. As much as Snow may have disliked being chased through a forest by a Huntsman and forced to live a life of roguery, Regina wonders if the girl knows that in doing so, the older woman had saved her from a much crueler fate. Certainly not all of Regina's motives were pure, but at least Snow would never know how it felt to be bought and sold like property to a husband thrice her age; she would never know the pain of being forced to pleasure a king who called her by his first wife's name. Snow would have true love, would have her _freedom_. That was more than Regina had ever had, or ever will.

Sometimes the Evil Queen wonders if Snow White had ever considered that in driving her stepdaughter away from the palace, Regina had set her on a path to a life full of all the things she herself had been denied...

When Graham shoves her roughly against the wall again, Regina is brought out of her thoughts. His kisses are passionate, but she cannot shake the feeling that something is incredibly wrong about this. She can taste alcohol on his tongue, smell it in his breath, and knows that he has had too much to drink tonight. She had always known him to be strong, but this animalistic side of him was one that his cursed self—up until now—had kept contained. It was with beastly strength and agility that he lifted her away from the wall, up into his arms, and took the steps leading to the second floor two at a time. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingers where her hands ghosted up to his neck.

He was trying to take off her clothes as they went, and Regina was shocked by the way he seemed confused by her appearance. His fingers fumbled where they should have been confident, and she had a vague sense of foreboding when a feral growl came from deep within his throat when he reached for corset strings that weren't there.

When she had been the Evil Queen, she found herself wearing scandalously cut clothing that left little to the imagination. The more alluring the gown, the more distracting her appearance, the more power she had over those she wished to manipulate. She felt stronger, more confident, in clothes that made her feel desirable. Seduction was simple when the wants of men were so predictable...

When they made it to her bedroom he threw her onto the bed and pounced on top of her, and for a moment, she could see an awareness in his eyes that sent a violent shiver down her spine. It felt like being doused with a bucket of ice water, and suddenly she knew that this was _him_—this was the man she had ordered to kill Snow White. But this was also _Graham_, sweet, honest Graham, trying to reconcile two realities inside his head.

She was a constant in both of his lives. She may have been a sick and twisted constant, but she was familiar in a way that nothing else was. He remembered her from another world, a darker world, while she clung to almost thirty years of trying to do better by him.

He may have been her pet in another lifetime, but in this one, she had come to care for him more than she was willing to admit. He kept the nightmares from surfacing, because as long as this was her _choice_, it did not feel like she was drowning. So long as she had strength, had the ability to stop it, she did not feel powerless, like she had when she was a young queen. This was how she dealt with her past, and while it may have been less than noble, it was all she could do to keep her demons from laying waste to her. Graham was her rock; he kept her sane in a town where she was so unbearably alone.

That's why it hurt more than it should have when he did not meet her eyes. That's why she could not say that this was just lust, primitive and simple. _Others_ my look at their relationship and say it was lust and loneliness and nothing more—Granny always gave her such dirty looks when she saw her coming and going from the room they reserved for "council meetings"—but Regina had known from the beginning that there was something between them that was stronger than that.

When he was finished and the wildness in Graham's eyes finally settled down, Regina was breathless and unsure of what to say. He had moved off her to lie down at her side, but when she went to place a hand on his shoulder, he turned and shrugged away from her touch.

It hurt to have him reject her like this, especially after what they had just done, and for a moment she feels like she is nineteen again, awake and alone in a bed that does not feel like hers.

She knew that she deserved this coldness, this lack of true feeling. In another life, she would look into his blue eyes and think of Daniel. It was only when she came to Storybrooke that she began to see him the way he deserved to be seen. He was a good, kind man whose life was intertwined with her own through powers beyond his control. She could not resent him for feeling nothing.

For a moment she stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the prickling at the corners of her eyes. She would not cry for this, for him, for losing someone she never truly had.

She bit her lip, hard, and focused on listening to Graham's breathing ease into the steady rhythm of sleep. She could pretend, for now, that this was her true love beside her. She could pretend that he loved her—that she would never be alone again—but even as she felt him pull the blankets tighter around them, she could sense that this was an ending. Graham, as she had known him, was gone. His memories were coming back, and she could not pretend as though they were nothing.

As she willed herself to be taken into sleep's empty embrace, she could feel the knife of rejection and loneliness buried in her heart twist painfully.

Huntsman, indeed.

* * *

_Coming soon: Envy_


	2. Envy

A/N: Regina was hurt quite a bit by never being good enough. 1x11: "Fruit of the Poisonous Tree"

* * *

_**Deadly Sin:** _Envy

"Happy birthday, Your Majesty!"

Regina did not rise from her seat as the rest of the king's council moved to crowd around him. She was not particularly fond of these parties; they were stuffy and overbearing in a way that made it hard to keep up her façade of tranquility and grace. She had no interest in hobnobbing with the well-to-do, especially when the gentry looked down upon her as the queen who hailed from Hay-and-Stables. Lacking the prestigious pedigree and upbringing that King Leopold's first wife had boasted, Regina was ostracized by the members of the court not long after their marriage.

So, the Queen watched the proceedings of her husband's birthday celebration from afar. She did not feel welcome to stand beside him, so she allowed herself to fade into the background, as was her custom when she was forced to play the part of the pretty, quiet, unassuming wife.

"No gifts are required to mark this special day, for they all pale in comparison to the greatest gift of all—my daughter, Snow." Leopold only had eyes for his perfect, precious daughter. Regina had known this long before she became his wife, but it did not stop the vague sense of pain that settled in her chest and came from knowing she would never be good enough for the King.

"Every day I look upon your face, and I am reminded of your dearly departed mother, who, like you, truly was the fairest in all the land."

King Leopold's words were like a dagger twisting in her heart, digging deeply into areas she did not know could bleed. She had never been an envious person—jealousy was unbecoming, her mother had always said—but there was something unbearably wretched about living in the shadow of a woman who was long since dead. It felt ridiculous to resent a woman who was now nothing but dust, but there was no denying she wished she could receive even an ounce of the love and affection the King reserved for his first wife and his only daughter.

There were days when Regina thought her life could be bearable, if only she were this treasured Eva. If only she had someone who loved her so much that she was never forgotten, even many years after her death. If only she could be valued as much as the person whose place she had so unwillingly taken.

She had lost everything in exchange for this life, and now that she had it, she knew that the King had not really wanted a mother for his child or a wife to stand beside him. He wanted someone he could pretend was _Her_, so that when the loneliness descended upon him, he could blame it on his new wife's failure to measure up as opposed to his own failure to move on.

Regina was never enough. Not for her mother, and certainly not for the King.

Fearing that her pain may show upon her face, Regina gathered up her skirts and left the room, quietly, so as not to be seen. It was rare for the King to notice her—he seemed to prefer it when she made herself scarce—so she did not think she would be missed.

The evening's cool breeze soothed her as it slipped its cold fingers across her tear-stained cheeks. Standing before her apple tree, she wished, with all her heart, that she did not have to feel so alone.

"Not in a festive mood?"

Regina jumped, startled out of her thoughts by the voice of the foreigner her husband had brought to court. Turning, she straightened her spine to preserve her wounded pride at being caught off-guard.

"No one seems to notice my absence," she said, knowing the words were too honest but too tired to feel ashamed by them.

"_I _noticed." His eyes searched hers, and suddenly she felt exposed under the intensity of his stare.

This man was bold. Regina watched him as he walked to her apple tree, her own eyes searching for a motive. The noblemen of the court rarely spoke to her. It was considered improper for her to converse with any man without her husband's presence or explicit consent. Whatever his intentions were, she knew they would get her in a lot of trouble should she be caught alone with him.

Then again, Regina was never one to shy away from a bit of danger.

"Such a lovely tree." His voice was warm, friendly. Regina cannot remember the last time she had a normal conversation with a man as an _equal_. Since becoming queen, status had complicated every aspect of her life.

"Yes, it's from my childhood garden." She wasn't sure why she felt the inclination to indulge the man, but she figured she did not have much choice in the matter if he insisted upon being there, invading what she liked to think of as her own private space. "The tree and I share something in common: neither of us can leave the palace, and neither of us truly belongs." Again, the honesty of her words felt wrong, but she had held her tongue for too many years. Perhaps it was time to let someone into the misery that had claimed her heart. "No matter how hard I try to please the king, he will never love me the way he loved his first wife. I'm trapped by the memory of the life they used to share."

She feels like a songbird caught in a cage with gilded bars. She can see through them, out into the beauty of the world. She can see the blue sky and the freedom that beckons her away. She can feel the wind beneath her wings and the song in her heart. But she cannot escape. She will never again have a chance at having her own life. The palace is her prison, and she is—has always been—the Queen of Nothing.

She looked at the man in front of her and knew he understood without her having to say anything more. He was a handsome gentleman, and she could tell by the way he spoke that he was interested in her, but she no longer felt capable of the kind of desire reflected in his eyes. He was treading in dangerous waters here, but it had been so long since someone had looked at her _that _way that she did not care.

"I know about being trapped more than anyone." This man had an unsettling way of seeing right through her. He continued, reaching for the satchel at his waste, "Maybe this will lift your spirits."

In his hands he held an ornate mirror. He offered it to her as though it had always been hers and he was simply returning it. "So you can see yourself the way I see you."

For a moment, her breath caught in her chest and she did not know what to say. She peered into the mirror, aware that the man's gaze was still focused intently upon her. "And how do you see me?"

"As the fairest in all the land."

Regina's reputation may have been built upon the negation of those words, but in that moment, she believed him. In that moment, she knew that she could step out of Eva's shadow and finally have her revenge.

She knew the recipe for her freedom. All it took was a lovesick fool, a couple of snakes, and a mirror.

* * *

_Next: Gluttony, and why Regina doesn't do rum._


	3. Gluttony

A/N: I am going with the definition of gluttony as over-consumption of food and _drink. _I think Regina might have a small problem with alcohol, after all of the horrific things she has gone through. This is my explanation as to why Regina "doesn't do rum."

**Trigger Warning:** Attempted rape and mentions of child abuse

* * *

_**Deadly Sin:**_ Gluttony

Regina—born a princess, raised a lady, forced a queen—has never been a stranger to the finer things in life. When she was young, decadent food and fine wine used to turn her stomach, but after years of her mother's heavy-handed punishment whenever she refused a meal or impolitely left her goblet untouched, she built a rather heavy tolerance to it all. She had never had much of an appetite—not whilst growing up under the intense scrutiny of a sorceress who tended to criticize every inelegant move of Regina's fork—but she found that she rather liked the wine when it did not involve a party of tipsy women laughing too loudly or drunken men trying to touch her inappropriately when their wives and her parents weren't looking.

One such celebration stood out among the rest, for it was the first and only time as a young lady that Regina had consumed spirits instead of the designated glass of champagne her mother had usually allowed her. That night was also the night she learned that red wine looks an awful lot like blood when it is spilled on a white nightgown.

_(Archie asks during one of their sessions when her dependency on alcohol had started. She lies. She says she does not have—nor has she ever had—a "_dependency"_ as he suggests. She denies that she has ever had a problem; she insists that a casual drink or two at night to help her forget her pain is not worth worrying over. She admits to one or two slip-ups before she became a mother, but ever since that little boy came into her life, she swears that she has not once drank herself into a dreamless stupor, as she did in the past.) _

The truth was that she was seventeen when it all began. It was at a celebratory ball, though she could not remember, for the life of her, which nobleman or woman had been the center of attention. To her, it did not matter which intolerable aristocrat was showing off his wealth. She had no patience for such displays, and what she _did _remember of the party was enough to keep her from searching her memory for too long.

In her mind's eye, she can still see _him_. The man who had sought her out was quite handsome, with a roguish smile that suggested he was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. He was tall, built like a soldier, but his eyes held a spark of intelligence and worldliness that was unusual to see in a man of the upper class. He was good with words; he was sure to capture her interest with a story or two of his adventures on the high seas when an ill-fated business voyage had him stuck on a ship for over two months in stormy waters. He kept smiling at her through it all, joking about gaining his sea legs and how at one point rum was the only beverage he could drink since they had run out of clean water.

Regina was fascinated by him. She found herself laughing at his stories with an ease that was altogether unfamiliar. She couldn't remember ever having been spoken to for this long by a complete stranger before. They were off to the side of the ballroom, by a door, speaking freely as the rest of the guests danced and chattered around them. There was a certain privacy that came from being surrounded by so many loud merrymakers who paid them no mind, and so Regina felt completely at ease, confident that no one would take notice of her speaking with a stranger. She should not be keeping this man company—not when she was a young, unmarried woman whose parents were preoccupied elsewhere. But as she listened to his stories, she felt herself wishing that she could have been to the places he described. She wanted the freedom that came with travel, the adventure that awaited all those whose lot in life was not to be married off. She wanted the carefree life he lauded, drinking rum and carrying on without a single worry in the world about magic or propriety.

When the man (_had she never asked him his name?_) produced a flask of rum from within his robes, he winked at her, his charm working wonders on her usually guarded personality.

"I still carry a flask wherever I go. It reminds me of my days of adventure, and it helps chase away the boredom when I have to attend these insufferable parties." He waves a careless hand around to indicate the babbling guests that seem to have gotten louder. Flashing her a dazzling smile, he makes a show of bowing. "Of course, having your company is anything but dull."

Regina can feel a blush blooming across her cheeks as he straightens and puts his warm hand on the fingers she has wrapped around her empty champagne glass. She tries not to pull away at the unexpected contact and has a question in her eyes as he takes the glass from her and winks again. Holding up the flask of rum, he pours a bit into it, sure to turn away from the crowd so that no one sees him do it.

"I make the rum myself. It's a rather guilty pleasure—one that I don't often boast—but I would be honored if a beautiful lady, such as yourself, would offer me her thoughts on its taste." His words are playful, his eyes dancing with mischief, and he smiles brightly at her as he tucks the flask back into his coat pocket.

She does not know what to say. Regina is not an unintelligent girl—she knows that taking a drink made by a stranger is not the best of ideas—but he is looking at her with such boyish excitement that when he hands her back her glass, more than anything she does not want to see his smile disappear if she were to refuse. She wants his eyes (_were they blue or green? The memory is too far-gone to tell_) to keep looking at her like she is the only one in the room. She wants, so badly, to stay in his company. She only ever gets to talk to her parents, Daniel, and Rocinante, and she doesn't think her steed counts. She is desperate for the attention this worldly man is giving her, and refuses to think that there is anything malevolent in those bright eyes and that warm smile.

Looking back, Regina aches for the girl who was so naïve and whole and unsuspecting.

It had not been indulgence that drove her to it; she had not come to the party expecting to have anything stronger than champagne. She recalls how she nearly dropped the glass that had been handed to her when her shaking fingers lifted the foreign drink to her mouth. She knew her mother would quite literally kill her if she were caught drinking rum, but there was a certain dizzying excitement in knowing that she was doing something and her mother, at this moment, could not stop her. It was her choice, and she was choosing risk and adventure. She almost chokes when she drinks too quickly, the hard liquor burning a fiery trail down her throat. There was a strange cooling sensation that settled in her stomach, and for a moment Regina was unsure if she were nauseous or just reacting badly to the strong alcohol.

Regina remembers how he changed, then. When she looked up from her glass, she could see the subtle transformations. The moment the liquid had touched her lips, the honest, playful smile turned into a cold smirk. His eyes were no longer dancing with flirtation; they were now dark and possessive, pleased that she had been so easily manipulated.

She felt the foreboding twist of her gut when the chuckle that erupted from his mouth was harsh and unsettling. She should have known. She should not have trusted him. He must have put something in the rum. Something that was now bleeding into her blood stream and coursing through her body.

_(She tells Archie once that she is not addicted to alcohol in the way that she had been addicted to magic; she promises him that she never used it as a crutch during the years when the loneliness and the emptiness became too much. When the cricket gives her that look—that terrible, insightful, almost_ pitying_ look—she knows he can see right through her.)_

She could feel the man's breath upon her neck and fought back the panic rising in her throat. Her mind was going fuzzy, and her limbs suddenly felt very heavy. He was too close. When had he gotten so close to her?

His hands were around her waist, then, and she knew that he was leading her somewhere away from the party. She could not tell how many rooms or hallways they were passing—all of her focus was in putting one foot in front of the other and keeping her balance—but she was sickeningly aware that if she had the energy and presence of mind to scream, no one would be able to hear her.

He opened a room—one of the many guest bedrooms, she assumed—and pushed her in. She stumbled, her motor skills and coordination fading fast. She could no longer keep any semblance of balance.

His hands were on her then, and she used her last bit of energy to try and fight him off. She remembered Daniel teaching her a few things about self defense when he had seen her black eye after her mother had gotten a little carried away with her magic and Regina hadn't had the courage to tell the stable boy the truth. This was different, though. Her mind was too clouded and her body too heavy to do much more than push against the man's chest when he pinned her down on the floor and straddled her hips.

Kicking and struggling still, unwilling to give up even as she could feel herself sinking into unconsciousness, she could feel the man getting frustrated. He slapped her powerfully across the face, and she let out a small cry. Then he was pulling up the skirt of her dress, and she did not have the energy to fight him anymore.

It all happened so quickly. She was only vaguely aware of a door opening, an angry shout, and the weight of the man being pulled off of her. She remembers someone calling her name, but that is where her memory ends. A young Prince James (who admitted sheepishly that he had been watching her the whole evening) had later told her that he had followed them out of the party when he saw the man lead her away. He had debated getting an adult—seeing as he was just a few months shy of fifteen and didn't know if he could take on a fully grown man—but when he stepped up to the door and heard a harsh slap followed by a cry of pain, he made his decision.

When James threw the man bodily off of Regina, the assailant's head had collided with the wall and left him unconscious. The prince had then tried waking the girl, but it seemed that she had either been drugged or magically sedated. He sat with her until she woke, nearly an hour later, and assured her when she panicked at his touch that nothing had happened to her while she was unconscious. Regina made him promise not to tell anyone the details of the ordeal, for if anyone knew—especially her mother—she would never be allowed out of her house again. Prince James promised, and helped her out of the room and back to the party, leaving the still-unconscious man locked in the empty room.

Upon returning to the party that was then dwindling down, she thanked Prince James—who was reluctant to let go of the hand she had so hesitantly taken when she still had trouble with her balance—and set out to find her mother.

That night, when she couldn't sleep, Regina made a decision. Feeling alone and scared and dirty, Regina snuck out of her room and into the cellar where they kept the wine of the estate.

She wanted to forget. She had heard of people losing their memories when they drank too much, and that seemed like a perfectly legitimate reason to drink herself into oblivion after the evening she had had. She did not want to feel _his_ hands on her, did not want to remember how completely powerless she was to stop him. She wanted so desperately to erase him from her mind that she drank far more than any slight seventeen year old girl should.

Her mother found her the next day with a locater spell and very nearly strangled her to death with magic for drinking herself into unconsciousness. For days afterward, Regina could not speak without feeling her tortured throat protest each word. Her mother's magic followed her everywhere, and she could not see Daniel for over a week for fear of his reaction to the bruises on her neck or the nearly faded outline of a hand across her cheek.

Less than a year and a half later, when Regina was forced to marry King Leopold, she no longer had reason to forget the man at the party who had tried to do her harm. The King's taking of his "privileges" was far more traumatic than anything that had come before.

Magic became her new addiction; she did not need alcohol to forget when she could ease her mind with a spell.

Still, in Neverland, when Snow White offers a flask of rum to her to join in the toast to Hook, Regina can feel the unwanted memory pressing against her mind. She formulates a response immediately, laced with well-practiced disdain, so as not to alert anyone to the horrible images flashing in front of her eyes. _I won't drink it. Not again._

It takes everything she has not to knock the flask out of Snow's hand.

"I don't do rum."

* * *

_Next: Wrath_


End file.
